


Not One or the Other

by wallmakerrelict



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Keith (Voltron) was Raised by the Blade of Marmora, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallmakerrelict/pseuds/wallmakerrelict
Summary: Food carries memory - not just our own, but generations’ worth of tradition and trauma. When Keith, raised by the Blade of Marmora, visits Earth for the first time, he finally finds the common thread of his ancestral memories.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Sheith Cookbook





	Not One or the Other

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for All Good Things, the Sheith Cookbook Zine (@sheithcookbook). Now that pre-orders have shipped, I'm sharing it with you all. Working on this zine was a joy and a privilege, and I'm so grateful to the mods and all the other contributors for making my first zine experience so smooth and rewarding. 
> 
> The recipe that accompanied this fic can be found in the end notes. 
> 
> I love everyone in this fandom 💜

“It reminds me of Earth.” 

Keith looked up at his mother, startled. She was gazing wistfully at the ocean just over the dunes, where lazy green waves streaked with clouds of pink algae billowed and foamed as they sprawled onto the sand. The rhythmic roar of the water made a calming backdrop for the bustle and chatter of the open-air market where Keith trailed through the crowd on Krolia’s heels. She’d paused only for a second before forging ahead once more, forcing Keith to scramble to keep up. 

“I thought Earth was a desert,” Keith ventured, eager to keep his mother talking. She’d never refused to answer his questions about her time on that faraway planet, but the topic was painful and her responses were frequently unsatisfying. It was rare for her to bring it up of her own accord. 

“You were born in the desert,” Krolia explained, “but there were oceans, too.” 

Keith wanted to keep her talking, to draw more information out of her, but she was already haggling with one of the diminutive natives over buckets of live sea creatures. Instead, Keith glanced back at the ocean, committing its beauty to memory and modifying his mental image of Earth to include it. 

The beach made such a peaceful scene that Keith could feel some of the war-ready tension seeping from his bones. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a place like this. The only reason he was getting the chance now was because their mission had failed spectacularly—the Empire stronghold had clocked them as Marmora agents almost immediately, forcing them to retreat in a stolen fighter whose damaged engine didn’t have a hope of carrying them all the way back to base. 

This tiny, backwoods moon had seemed the safest place to hide from Zarkon’s forces while they waited for Kolivan to extract them. It was all wilderness and primitive villages, with no sign of war, and Keith was starting to let his guard down. But when Krolia tried to pay the seaside vendor with a blaster pistol she’d found in the stolen fighter there was a visible ripple of discomfort among the locals. The vendor accepted the pistol as payment, but their reaction made it clear they hoped she wouldn’t linger for long. 

As Krolia continued down the beach, Keith now noticed how her imposing form interrupted the carefree atmosphere wherever they went. Vendors hid their wares, and the children in the tidepools quieted as she passed. Even here, in a tiny village on a tiny moon too unstrategic to ever see the war firsthand, people knew enough to fear the Galra. 

They didn’t seem to fear Keith, though; they only peered at him in curiosity.

Keith was aware he didn’t look Galra. He was too small, his ears were neither pointed nor furred but instead shaped like rounded shells with just a hint of a taper on the upper cartilage, and his skin was a muddy blend of very light pink and very light brown. He looked so un-Galra that he supposed he must look human, but Krolia had always insisted that, even as a baby, he hadn’t looked human enough to stay with his father on Earth. 

“Humans aren’t purple,” she’d explained when Keith was very young. 

Keith had held up his arm and squinted at his own skin. He supposed there was some purple there, in the right light, but nothing like Krolia’s deep violet with indigo markings. “I’m not very purple,” he’d said. “Maybe they wouldn’t have noticed.” 

“They would have noticed,” Krolia had promised him, but Keith was never sure if he believed it. 

Glares were becoming whispers as Krolia moved through the beachside market, and Keith spotted a few of the locals following them from a distance. “Mom…” he said under his breath. 

“I know,” said Krolia with a sigh, taking a sharp turn to leave the market before the situation could escalate. 

Keith followed her away from the crowd, into the windswept trees, and farther inland where Thace was waiting for them at the wreckage of their stolen ship, tending a campfire. He tensed as he heard them approach, but relaxed and took his hand off his blade when he recognized Krolia. “How did it go?” he greeted them. 

“I got enough food to last until our extraction,” Krolia answered, plopping down beside the fire with her armful of packages, “but we were getting some funny looks by the time we left. We probably shouldn’t go back.” 

Thace grunted his acknowledgement as he inspected the food, tasting a little of each ingredient before emptying a packet of shellfish into a small pot suspended over the flame. He added water, and the three of them sat in silence as the shells steamed open and the liquid simmered down to a thick, oily broth. The rest of Krolia’s offerings went into the stew next—rubbery little tubers, crumbled pieces of a starchy substance, and multi-colored vegetables in strange shapes. 

It was starting to smell good, but it wasn’t finished. Krolia produced a small sealed pouch from a pocket on the inside of her armor and shook out some red powder, handling the pouch carefully to keep from using too much. When she added it to the pot the broth bubbled up and thickened, becoming orange and crimson, and released an intoxicating smell—savory and spicy, familiar from Keith’s earliest memories. 

Those spices were a relic of Daibazaal, from plants that didn’t grow naturally anymore. No other planet had the right mix of proteins, minerals, and acidity to support the temperamental seeds, so now they only grew with great effort in greenhouses aboard space stations. Krolia folded the pouch carefully, re-sealing it without spilling a single grain, before tucking it back under her armor. 

Thace scooped portions of stew into bowls and passed them around. When Keith took a bite, he was first hit with that warm, familiar flavor of those precious spices. Then, as he chewed, the flavors and textures of the other ingredients came through. The metallic tang of the shellfish from the copper-tinged sea, the chewy root vegetables, the starchy leaves. Thace scrunched his mouth and unenthusiastically declared it, “Edible.” 

“It’s good,” Keith insisted, taking another bite. He’d grown up on food like this. The recipe was never the same twice, with meat from one planet and vegetables from another and fungus from somewhere else. “I like that there’s always something new about it. It’s like we’re sharing with other species to make something unique.”

Krolia and Thace exchanged a meaningful glance, and Krolia sighed as she said, “That’s a nice thought, Keith. But sharing implies either of us had a choice. If we’d asked, do you think the people of this moon would have been happy to share their culture with the Galra?”

Keith didn’t have to wonder. The faces of the locals at the market had clearly said, “No.” 

“We don’t have a choice either,” Krolia went on. “The truth is, I’ve never tasted this dish the way it would have been made on Daibazaal, and neither has Thace, and neither will you.” 

Keith looked down at his bowl, swirling the chunks in the stew. The spices that gave the broth its color and flavor were rare and difficult to produce, but at least they had been saved. He’d never wondered about all the foods with no seeds in storage and no sprouts in greenhouses, which no one would ever eat again.

For the first time, Keith found himself missing a planet whose air he’d never breathed, whose sun had never warmed his face. He’d rarely wondered about Daibazaal the way he did about Earth, which had always seemed like the more tangible loss. But he had two ancestral homes, and he was separated from them both. 

“Daibazaal was a terrible loss,” Krolia said, seeming to read Keith’s mind. “But instead of learning from that tragedy, the Empire has paid it forward in kind. It has destroyed countless planets, displaced their people, extinguished their cultures. The nature of the universe is that some steal, and some are stolen from. The loss of our home planet put us on one side of that equation, long ago, but Zarkon’s cruelty would put us on the other, with no thought to breaking the cycle.” 

Keith took another bite. The soup still tasted good, but his enjoyment of it was now marred with the understanding of its history. 

When they’d finished eating, as they gathered their things and retreated into the wrecked ship for the night, Keith tentatively asked his mother, “So, what about humans? Do they steal? Or are they stolen from?”

Krolia’s expression softened as she cupped Keith’s face in her hand. “The latter,” she said without hesitation. “Being isolated from other inhabited planets, they are mostly outside that equation. But I happen to know of something very precious that was stolen from them.” 

“What was it?” said Keith. 

“You.” 

——

The Galra invasion had left humankind bruised and bleeding, her population decimated, her cities in ruins. But Sendak’s defeat sent waves of hope and liberation to every corner of the globe, and Shiro got to see the resilience of his own species firsthand. 

In a coastal city just a few hours’ flight from the Garrison base, Shiro couldn’t suppress his smile as he waded through the crowd. All these people had been thought dead, but now that the fighting was over they’d emerged from bunkers and annexes and out of the countryside. Pockets of survivors like this were being discovered all over the world. The death toll, though tragic, was not as bleak as the Garrison’s early predictions had feared. 

The remnants of the town gathered in an old shopping mall—mostly abandoned even before the invasion—where sunlight streamed through sections of fallen ceiling and the crisp ocean air wafted between holes in the walls left by Empire bombs. Now each shop window was decorated with keepsakes of the families housed within, storage areas had become makeshift barracks, and the main thoroughfare was jammed with rugs and stalls as people struck up a loose but vibrant barter economy. 

Shiro hurried through the noisy market, following the shiny black braid bobbing ahead of him. He’d worried that Keith’s recent injuries would slow him down, but now that they were here, Keith was so excited that Shiro could hardly keep up. It warmed his heart to see the delight on his face, starting when they’d landed the Black Lion on the beach. 

“It’s blue!” Keith had exclaimed when they’d first arrived, running onto the sand to look at the ocean. “Mom didn’t say it would be blue!” He’d been beautiful—eyes wide, mouth agape, messy hair whipped and tousled by the ocean breeze, and Shiro’s heart had pounded harder just from looking at him. 

Keith had always had this effect on him, even from the very beginning. When the Blade of Marmora had first taken Shiro in—still battered and reeling from his year in captivity—he’d been immediately drawn to the wiry, pale form standing heads shorter than the others. He’d taken an interest in Keith, enough to notice that he was the best pilot in Kolivan’s elite squadron and enough to ask around and confirm that Keith was half human. His unlikely presence there had been a great comfort. In a strange place, surrounded by Galra, talking to Keith had felt like a little piece of home out there in the wilds of space and war. 

When he’d finally gotten the chance to return to Earth, Shiro had struggled with the notion that he might never see Keith again. But his homecoming hadn’t gone to plan, and he’d soon found himself blasting off into space once more, this time with a few cadets in tow. As soon as Allura gave him command of Voltron, he’d known who his Red Paladin would be. He’d sought out the Blade of Marmora once more, and their final, stubborn lion had immediately taken to Keith. 

It had felt right to have him on the team, and Keith had been thrilled to spend time with humans. He’d been fascinated by their speech, their customs, even their appearance. Shiro had noticed him comparing his own body to the rounded ears and dull nails of his teammates, and trying to fit his own skin tone into their spectrum. 

As a newcomer to the team, Keith had been eager to prove himself, always rushing into the middle of the fray. Shiro had quickly gotten in the habit of looking out for the Red Lion in battle, keeping track of Keith, making sure he was safe. The others had thought Keith irresponsible at first, but Shiro saw the way he danced around the battlefield, aware of every threat to his team, always claiming the greatest danger for himself. He risked no one’s life but his own, and whenever Shiro was in trouble it was Keith who would come to his rescue. 

Shiro admired Keith’s bravery, but each near-miss had tormented him. They’d grown close over their time at war, closer than comrades, closer than brothers, and the thought of losing Keith had shifted from tactically unacceptable to personally unbearable. 

“What will you do when the war is over?” he’d asked one night, trying to get Keith to think about the future instead of just the next battle. 

Keith had thought about it for a long moment before answering, “I guess I’ve always wanted to see Earth.” 

“I’ll take you there,” Shiro had told him, grabbing Keith’s hand to link their pinky fingers. “We’ll both survive this war, and we’ll go home together.” 

That was when Keith had kissed him for the first time. 

His promise had felt like wishful thinking back then, but now here they were, walking under the clear sunshine and breathing the salty ocean air as the market vendors congregated around Keith to show him their wares. Word had traveled fast that two paladins of Voltron were present, and everyone was eager to get a glimpse of them. Keith’s catlike pupils grew and his ears twitched in fascination as he surveyed the unfamiliar logos on packages and can labels. Shiro helped him pick out some of the best-looking fresh produce, but he couldn’t stop Keith from gathering up every mismatched item that caught his eye from hot dogs to rice cakes. 

As Shiro arranged everything in the shopping bag he’d brought, Keith happily paid each vendor in one of the few currencies still worth anything in this post-apocalyptic world—Garrison aid tokens. Awed murmurs rippled through the crowd. Tokens could be redeemed for food, supplies, medical treatment, protection—whatever the Garrison had to offer—and were usually reserved for distributing to vulnerable populations or negotiating with the hostile militia that had sprung up in some of the more rural areas. Iverson had given a few tokens to each of the Paladins for personal use, and now Keith was giving his away freely even though each one was worth much more than the stale candy and tinned meat in their bag. Shiro almost warned him not to use them all up, but stopped himself before he spoke. Keith wasn’t stupid; he knew what they were worth. And it brought joy to Shiro’s heart to see Keith’s unthinking generosity. 

Eventually, the knot of people dissipated as everyone went back to their stalls and the normal hubbub of the market resumed. As soon as they had some breathing room, Keith went through Shiro’s bag to inspect what they’d bought. He tore chunks off each vegetable, tasting as he went, and shook bags and cans to feel the weight and texture of their contents. Intrigued by the density of a can of SPAM, he gouged at the top with his thick claws until Shiro took it out of his hands and showed him how to open the flip-top lid. Keith scooped out a sliver of the pink brick and his eyes lit up at the salty, savory flavor. 

“Oh! It’s good!” he gasped. When Shiro chuckled, Keith added, “Did I say something funny?” 

Shiro was quick to assure him, “No, I agree! My grandparents used to make musubi with that when we’d visit them in Hawai’i. But it’s not exactly the best Earth has to offer.” 

“What do you mean?”

“All the crops and infrastructure were damaged in the war. It’ll be a long time before we get fresh ingredients like we used to have. I’m sorry, you waited so long to see Earth and now that you’re here, you’re stuck eating whatever processed stuff survived the destruction.” 

Keith carefully replaced the lid and tucked the SPAM back into the bag, rolling it up in plastic to keep it from leaking. “It’s still Earth food,” he said simply, grabbing a can of pears and popping open the lid like Shiro had just taught him. “It’s all new to me, anyway. And it tastes good. That’s what matters.”

He tipped the can, about to drink the sweet syrup inside, when he suddenly froze and leaned to look past Shiro. 

“Hello,” Keith said gently. 

Shiro turned to find a pair of young girls, sisters by the look of them, peeking out from behind a kiosk. The bigger of the two couldn’t be older than eight, the younger no more than five. They were skinny, and they stared at the can in Keith’s hand with glassy eyes. 

Keith knelt and held the can out to them. “You want it?” he said. The older girl sidled forward and took it from him. The little one nudged up behind her, gripping her sister’s elbow and whispering something in her ear. “What did she say?” Keith encouraged. 

“She wants to know why you’re purple,” said the older girl.

The delicate lilac tint of Keith’s skin flushed mauve. “You noticed, huh?” he chuckled. “It’s because my mom’s not from around here. But I’m human.” 

The girl shrugged. “You don’t look human.” 

She didn’t seem to notice the way Keith’s shoulders tightened and his ears drooped, but Shiro did. Keith said, “I guess I don’t. Do I look scary?”

This time, the smaller of the two girls finally spoke up, answering with a shouted, “No way!” She pointed at Keith’s chest, her finger almost touching the logo on his armor. “Voltron!” 

Keith gave the girls a couple more cans from out of Shiro’s bag, and pressed his last aid token into the older girl’s hand before both children scampered back to their family in a nearby shop front. 

Shiro hugged Keith to his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” said Keith, beaming up at him. “The Empire stole so much from these people. It feels good to give something back, even if I don’t belong.” 

“You belong right here,” said Shiro, hugging him tighter. 

They left the market behind, stepping through the frames of the shattered doors, and walked down the middle of the road where it sloped toward the ocean. The daylight was just beginning to wane as they made it back to where the Black Lion sat regally on the sand. 

The nook between the lion’s front paws made a good break from the wind, so Keith pulled some driftwood together there and lit a fire. Shiro watched as he suspended a pot over the flames and began adding ingredients from their shopping haul: sliced pieces of SPAM and tofu around the edges and mushrooms in the middle, their varied colors and textures blooming like a flower arrangement. Desiccated rice cakes softened and plumped up as they took on the broth in which they were floating. Keith nudged the fire with the toe of his boot so the coals glowed against the metal and the stew began to steam. 

From the inside of his armor, Keith untucked a little pouch and opened it gingerly. He peered at its contents, weighing them in his hand like gold, before shaking out a small mound of red powder. When the powder dissolved into the broth, the whole soup took on its vibrant color, and before long a rich, spicy smell rose up from the pot as it began to boil. 

“Smells good,” said Shiro. 

Keith nodded as he stirred. “We used to make this soup with anything we could find, thousands of ingredients from hundreds of planets. We didn’t have a choice back then. But now...” Keith smiled through the rising steam. “Those other planets didn’t belong to me. This one kind of does. I don’t feel like I’m taking anything from Earth, just sharing freely.” 

Keith didn’t let the pot boil for long. As soon as foam began to form at the edges and the tofu had taken on the color of the broth, he ripped open a package of instant ramen and chucked the dried brick of noodles in the center with a splash. As the broth boiled down, the craggy landscape of ingredients at the bottom beginning to emerge, the eclectic mix transformed into something harmonious. Soon the noodle square softened and splayed out to fill in the gaps between SPAM and tofu, mushroom and rice cake, and Keith kicked all but a few coals away so the pot would continue to simmer without boiling dry.

They had a couple of little bowls, and Shiro looked around for a ladle or similar to dish the soup out. Keith didn’t bother, instead dunking each bowl into the soup and scooping some up before handing one back to Shiro. The smell was amazing. Shiro assembled a bite with as many different ingredients as he could fit between a pair of chopsticks and crammed it into his mouth. 

When Shiro looked up from his bowl, his amazement must have shown on his face because Keith began to laugh shyly before he had even spoken. “Keith, this is really good!” 

“You sound surprised,” said Keith, ducking his head to hide the blush spreading on his cheeks. 

“I’m not,” Shiro replied. “I trust you. But this is even better than you said it would be.” 

Shiro took another bite full of chewy mushrooms and silky rice cake and soft tofu, all permeated with that deep and rich spicy flavor, hot enough to prick his nose and eyes but not so painful that he couldn’t immediately go back for more. Keith tipped his bowl and drank some of the broth, wearing a wistful smile. 

The peace on Keith’s face as he gazed out across the water, watching the first stars appear on the darkening sky, made Shiro’s heart clench in his chest. Was he thinking about the far-off space stations and military bases where he grew up? Shiro asked tentatively, “Does it taste like home?”

“Nah, we didn’t have SPAM at the Blade of Marmora,” Keith chuckled. But then his expression grew serious and he continued, “It tastes familiar, of course. It’s a Galran dish. But everything new about it, everything unique, is from Earth. It’s not one or the other. It’s both.” 

Keith took another sip from his bowl and added quietly, “Like me.” 

But Keith wasn’t merely both; he was something greater than the two sides of his heritage combined. A treasure whose existence Shiro couldn’t have imagined before they met. His upbringing had already steeped him in the best of his mother’s culture, and Shiro couldn’t wait to return the rest of his birthright to him by showing him everything humanity had to offer. Galra and human, like crimped noodles in spicy broth, and in that combination Shiro could taste a future for the two of them, together.

Shiro wanted to reach out to Keith, to explain all that to him. 

But then Keith looked up at him, a slow smile lighting up his face, tears that had nothing to do with the heat of the soup welling in his eyes, and Shiro could see that there was no need to explain anything. 

“So, yeah,” Keith said. 

“I guess it does taste like home.” 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Budae Jjigae (Korean Army Base Stew)**  
>  Serves 4
> 
> Prep time: 15 minutes  
> Cook time: 20 minutes
> 
> **Spice mixture (combine beforehand in a small bowl):**  
>  2 Tbsp gochugaru (Korean red pepper powder)  
> 2 Tbsp mirin or other sweet wine  
> 1 Tbsp soy sauce  
> ½ Tbsp sugar  
> ½ Tbsp gochujang (Korean chili paste)
> 
> **Other ingredients:**  
>  4 cups chicken stock  
> ½ can of SPAM, cut into ½” slices  
> 4 cocktail Frankfurt sausages, cut into ¼” diagonal slices  
> 12oz firm tofu, cut into ½” slices  
> 2 cups sliced mushrooms (recommend enoki, oyster, and/or shiitake mushrooms but any can be used)  
> ½ cup bite-sized kimchi  
> 1 packet instant ramen noodles  
> 1 cup Korean rice cakes for soup  
> 6 green onions, cut into ½” diagonal slices
> 
> 1\. Arrange the SPAM, sausages, tofu, mushrooms, and kimchi in a shallow pot. Add spice mixture to center of pot. 
> 
> 2\. Pour chicken stock gently into the pot, stirring to incorporate the spice mixture without disturbing the other ingredients. Cover and place on medium heat until stock is boiling.
> 
> 3\. Add rice cakes, green onions, and ramen noodles to top of soup and boil uncovered until noodles are cooked and rice cakes are soft (2-3 minutes).
> 
> 4\. Serve with rice. Either divide soup into portions and eat immediately, or keep pot on low heat to be shared over time. Replenish with more stock as needed if it boils down.


End file.
